Ship to Shore
by kissmelikeapirate
Summary: This cruise was meant to mend their relationship - not tear it apart! Emma Swan is left alone on a ten day cruise after an ill-timed break-up. Is there any way she can salvage this vacation? And just what is it about that first officer, Killian Jones...
1. Chapter 1

_**Summary: This cruise was meant to mend their relationship - not tear it apart! Emma Swan is left alone on a ten day cruise after an ill-timed break-up. Is there any way she can salvage this vacation? And just what is it about that first officer, Killian Jones...**_

 _ **Notes: So here is my super long 'one shot' that I've had to split into two as it was driving me insane! Look out for the conclusion later this week!**_

Beyond the deck on which she stood, midnight blue ocean stretched out below a blanket of stars - more than she had ever thought existed. The sea was calm, only a gentle laying of water against the hull to disturb her thoughts as she scrunched her brow together in consternation.

Staring into her half drank glass of Chenin Blanc, Emma Swan began to mull over her life choices so far.

Five hours.

 _Five hours_ was all they had managed before the whole damn trip blew up in her face.

All it had taken was one spilled drink and a pair of hot tempers before the whole dining room had turned and stared open mouthed as the two of them squabbled like toddlers over whose dumb ass idea it had been to even _try_ and fix their relationship.

She chuckled. Make or break, they called these kind of things. Well, break it was - if the shattered plate Neal had thrown on the floor was any indicator.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

The unexpected voice behind her made her jump - the glass in her hand almost slipping into the inky black depths of the ocean below. Quickly, she turned her head to see its owner.

"Sorry, didn't mean to alarm you," he continued. For it was most certainly a he. It was one of the crew - his dress whites gave him away. In the darkness, she briefly registered his tall figure and predictably chiseled features.

Irritated, she spun around and placed her empty hand firmly on her hip.

"Well you did," she snapped, her eyes suddenly focusing on his face.

His _irritatingly handsome_ face.

"Whoa lass, pull your claws back in," he retorted, his voice an annoying combination of admiration and jest.

"Excuse me?" Creasing her brow, her eyes lingered on his face: on his annoyingly blue eyes (even in the barest light) and oh-so sharp jawline. Emma scowled.

"Just trying to be helpful, no need to bite my head off. Thought you might not mind some company on this lovely night." The stranger gestured to the cloudless night, before pausing to scratch his ear as he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"Well as you can see, me and Mr. Blanc here are getting along just fine. And aren't you not supposed to fraternize with passengers?"

He smiled, flashing a glimpse of white teeth and the dimples in his cheeks. Emma felt her vexation increasing with every second. "Well, as you can see, I'm an officer, and my job is to ensure the _enjoyment,_ of all passengers on this trip. So you see, I am just doing my duty, Miss…?" He pulled a hand out of his pocket and reached towards her.

"Emma," she replied flatly, keeping her back firmly pressed against the railing. Ignoring his gesture, she slowly took a sip of her wine.

"Ah," he nodded, "Well, Miss Emma, I'm Killian Jones. Chief Mate. Perhaps I will see you around again?"

"Perhaps," she quipped, with none of the enthusiasm that he displayed. "It is a small ship."

"It is indeed," he replied, with just a hint of underlying meaning that she couldn't quite catch.

Not that she cared.

"Goodnight," the crewman called as he slipped back into the ship.

Sighing, she turned back to her previous position, gulping back a mouthful of wine; mentally calculating how many more glasses it would take before she could bear going back to the cabin.

/

Bounding along the corridor back to the helm, Killian smirked to himself.

It was not normally part of his raison d'être to flirt with the passengers. In fact, he went out of his way to avoid it. That's why working on this route, full of couples as it always was, was perfect.

Women were trouble. He had learned that the hard way.

Oh, that's not to say he was without his own needs and wants. Quite the contrary, he never troubled to find a pretty face and a warm body on a night in port. But that was as far as it went.

Which was why he was all the more intrigued by this woman, who had caught his eye while screaming at (he assumes) her ex. And why he found himself gravitating to the decking that ran around the dining room after his eyes had watched her flee, once the man she was with had smashed a perfectly decent dinner plate on the dance floor.

She was a feisty one, that was for sure.

Chuckling to himself, he made his way to check on the night shift, hoping that Will Scarlet had managed to keep them on course.

All the while, a pair of fiery green eyes lingering at the back of his mind.

/

Neal left the next day. Or at least, that was what the note that he had left in her (their) room last night had said.

After reading it - then tossing it in the trash - she'd curled up in their queen size bunk, not bothering to change, and let the wine send her to sleep. It was a fitful sleep, full of dreams that reminded her of all the reasons that she and Neal had been a bad idea for a long time.

The lies (mostly his).

The fights (both of them).

The endless cycle of break up and make up that had left her so exhausted that for the past year, the holiday time her boss had forced her to take, had mostly involved sleeping.

In the morning, the ship had docked at Key West and she hid in her (yes, it was _her's_ now) cabin until she was sure he must have left. There she sat, stewing in her own regrets, debating whether she should just pack up and follow him, before her stubborn side bit back.

 _No._

This was her first vacation in she couldn't remember how long. Ten nights sailing around the Caribbean. A deluxe cabin. Drinks package included. Not to mention the suitcase full of new clothes.

Damn him.

No.

Damn _all_ men. If Neal and all the bail jumpers she spent her job tracking down were anything to go by, she was better off without them.

She was here now and she was going to enjoy herself whether she liked it or not.

Pulling on a pair of sunglasses to hide her puffy eyes, Emma grabbed her kindle and headed for the sundeck. It was almost five, but if she was lucky she could still get an hour or so of light.

The ship was small for a cruise liner. But that's what had made it appeal to her in the first place. 150 passengers, a dockside pool, nightly dinners with the Captain. Unpretentious. _Intimate._

The idea of getting lost on one of those giant cruise liners she saw advertised on television made her shiver. Smaller was better in this case, she had thought.

She found a reclining chaise and stretched out. There was a bit of a chill in the air and she had to turn the sun bed so she can soak in the last of the sunshine as it threatens to dip over the horizon sometime soon. Within a few minutes she was almost smiling as she let it warm her face, relaxation beginning to filter through her body like a trickling stream.

"Ah, we meet again."

She recognized the voice without having to open her eyes.

Pulling up her sunglasses, she gave the bearer of the voice a cursory glance before looking back at her Kindle. He was dressed in a more casual uniform than last night, but still wore the same cocky grin, the one that was just as annoying 18 hours earlier.

"Shouldn't you be off driving the ship or something?" she jibed.

He took a step closer, though was careful not to block the scant remaining light. "It's called steering, love. And luckily, you've caught me on a break."

"Lucky me," Emma snorted, her eyes darting to him behind the dark shades; using their camouflage to look him over more carefully than had been possible in the darkness last night. He was, as she had previously assessed, atypically handsome. The kind of guy she knew, through experience, to keep as far away as her arms could reach.

"If we keep meeting like this, I may start thinking you are following me," he continued, grinning at her and flashing those dimples that she had noticed the night before, his eyes crinkling at the same time.

An involuntary thud hit her chest. He was painfully handsome. Typical.

Composing herself, she pushed back her glasses and met his eyes. "Yes, you have clearly determined the reason I plotted to wait until now, when most of the sun had gone, to come up on deck. Congratulations."

"I'm crushed," he sighed, with mock horror, just as she registered how ridiculously blue his eyes were. She laughed despite herself. The tension she had been holding in since her argument with Neal melting just a little.

From the sun. Of course.

"I take it you will be at dinner tonight?"

She bit her lip. Actually, she had planned on hiding in her cabin. After last night's embarrassing display she was less than eager to face her fellow passengers. And there was a jumbo bag of potato chips with her name on it waiting for her.

"Not sure," she lied, not wanting to get into a debate with Captain Handsome about how she shouldn't waste her time sulking in her cabin.

Nodding, he replied, "Well, I shall be looking out for you."

She opened her mouth to say something more, but he was already turning to leave.

A mild feeling of disappointment landed on her as pulled down her sunglasses and watched him walk away.

Not noticing the way his khakis hugged his ass.

Of course not.

/

"What's up?"

"Hmm?" Killian answered as he fastened up the unwieldy, tiny buttons of his shirt.

"You. You've been like the Cheshire cat since you got back."

He glanced over at Scarlet, who was sitting on his bunk, prepping again for the night shift. The perk of being most junior officer.

"Oh, have I?" Killian replied, pulling his collar straight as he examined himself in the mirror.

"Aye," his bunk mate replied, "And it's rather disconcerting."

"Perhaps I'm just in a good mood," he offered, turning around to give his friend a toying wink.

Pausing, Will planted his hands on his knees. "Who is she?"

Killian tucked in his shirt and reached for his belt.

"No idea what you are talking about."

"If ye say so," the junior officer replied, raising his brows as he met his friend's eye.

"I do."

Scarlet knew better than to try and continue the conversation, but he continued to cast his friend smirking glances as the two men finished dressing.

Finally, the two departed their quarters, Killian to dinner and Will to the helm.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," Will teased as he closed the door behind them.

"Well that doesn't rule out much," Killian chuckled.

/

Sheer black, ankle length and split to the thigh, the dress had been intended to reignite their non-existent sex life. But, the closest they had gotten to that was the wandering hand that had groped her ass on the way to dinner the night before. She cringed thinking about it.

On board, the dress code for dinner was formal. So she'd packed a different outfit for every night - and as much as she wanted to be as inconspicuous as possible after last night, her shopper's heart couldn't let such dresses go to waste. Especially since they were all past the return date.

Of course, she was pretty aware that this kind of outfit screamed 'look at me'. But hey, if she was going to be the center of attention tonight (for all the wrong reasons) she may as well give them something to look at.

When she arrived at her table, of the trio of other couple, only one was already seated.

"Dining solo tonight?" queried the brunette across the table.

Emma moistened her lips and shrugged, meeting the other woman's stare, "Yeah, the sea didn't agree with my vacation partner."

She held her gaze, until the brunette's companion pulled her close, whispering briefly in her ear.

"Don't mind Ruby," he insisted, as the aforementioned got to work pouring herself a glass of wine, "She's just pissed she won't get a front row seat to the encore."

Part of Emma wanted to pretend to be offended, but she was too amused to care, chuckling as replied, "Sorry. That was a one-time deal. Mr.-"

"Victor," he nodded, "I think we should be on a first name basis now."

"So what did happen to lover boy?" Ruby interjected, her garnet-painted nails gripping the table as she leaned a little closer.

"Gone," Emma breathed out, placing her napkin on her lap. "Can you pass the Chardonnay, please?"

Ruby smirked, grabbing Emma's glass and filling it almost to the brim. "Thanks…" she quavered, her fingers lightly grasping the crystal stem.

"I think you deserve it," Ruby replied, giving a brief wink before she tapped the two glasses together. Relaxing back into her seat, Emma decided that perhaps tonight wouldn't be as painful as she had feared.

/

By the time the entrees were brought out, her worries had dissipated somewhat. She finally had time to actually meet the people with whom she would be sharing a table for the next week. Besides Ruby and Victor, there was an elderly couple, Mr. and Mrs. Brooks, who both seemed to be mostly deaf despite their hearing aids, four Argentinian students who spoke little English and seemed mostly concerned with taking selfies and lastly a bespectacled, older guy, with wiry red hair, Archie, who seemed to have taken it upon himself to entertain her since they were both 'flying stag' (as he put it).

He had made an admirable effort, regaling her with half-baked tales of nameless clients and his time as a youth spend backpacking around Europe (though she struggled to imagine his gangly frame being even able to pick up a backpack).

After dinner was cleared, the only people left at the table were herself, Archie and Ruby and Victor - who seemed far more interested in examining each other's mouths than engaging in conversation.

The band finally kicked up around 9:30pm. It was one of those typical cruise bands, with a vast backlog collection of covers and a versatile leading vocalist who could throw his hand to Bing Crosby just as competently as Freddie Mercury.

Tapping her foot as she watched the various couples twirl about the floor, Emma felt an unfamiliar urge. To dance. As in, in public.

But she never danced. Not even at her senior prom (well, she had spent half the night hiding in a corner, sipping a bottle of her mother's tequila…). Still, there was something about the room, the music, the atmosphere - and, who was she kidding - the unfamiliar feeling of freedom that was pulsing through her body that just made her want to.

"Hey Archie," she whispered, nudging him in the side as he eyed Ruby and Victor all too conspicuously.

"Yes?" he replied (trying to pretend he wasn't staring).

"Do you dance?"

His cheeks reddened, his hand moving to push his spectacles a little higher up the bridge of his nose. "Well, it's been a while-"

"Perfect," she beamed, quickly hooking her arm around his and pulling him to stand, "Same here. Shall we?"

/

He'd noticed her about five seconds after she had walked in the room. It was impossible not to, really.

The dress was criminally gorgeous (and sexy, he conceded). Just the right amount of sheer fabric and skin to be decent, showing off that first hint of a tan she had developed that afternoon. All the time, her blonde hair swinging about her shoulders in tousled curls. (Hair that had been pulled back the last two times they had met. Hair he felt an urge to run his fingers through, to pull on, to bury his face in).

She was indeed a distraction.

But his position as first officer during dinner was to charm the guests.

And charm them he did. Every night was spent at a different table. Every night was passed regaling the passengers with the same stories of exotic locations and brave escapes from stormy seas. Stories that, while they held a sliver of truth, were certainly the product more of embellishment than fact.

The food was delicious as always and his guests suitably impressed with him and his tales. He tried to not think too hard about Ms. Swan, on the far side of the room as she was, hidden by a dozen other tables. He couldn't help but wonder, though, if she had noticed his presence. Was she even now vying for his attention; perhaps looking his way. It was damn foolish thinking - like a school boy with a silly crush. Yet as much as he tried not to think of the elusive Emma Swan, the more his traitorous mind did.

Thankful it wasn't his night to oversee the helm, he sipped spiced rum on the rocks and Killian relaxed into his chair as the band began to play. He was left to his own thoughts as the remaining couples from his table moved to the dance floor and began to sway to a Michael Buble tune.

A drop of rum slid down the glass as he watched the dance floor fill up. He was thankful, once more, that this cruise line had forgone the tradition of officer's whites for dinner, instead using the more somber navy. Whites were damn hard to keep clean and they also made him stand out like a sore thumb in usual sea of dark suits and colorful dresses. Shucking off his coat onto the seat behind him, he nursed the glass, watching the couples sway - not realizing what he was looking for until he saw it.

A swirl of black material was the first clue. Followed by glossy blonde waves.

He leaned forward a little in his seat, trying to keep a neutral face as he watched her move across the floor, accompanied by a copper haired man who he vaguely remembered from the night before. She wasn't the most polished dancer, her heels catching on the floor now and then, occasionally misstepping with the wrong foot. But she laughed and smiled her way through the song, tossing back her hair as the band slipped into a more upbeat number.

There's an overwhelming urge to cross the floor and cut in. To draw her across the floor, to see her smile and listen to her laugh.

(And hold her. God, he wanted to hold her).

It's not that he couldn't dance, he just usually chose not to. Each night tended to blur into one another on these trips and save the odd whirl around the dance floor to please some teenage daughter or lonely widow, he usually stuck to enjoying a drink and people watching.

Grimacing, he sunk back a cold mouthful of rum, wincing as it burned his tongue and throat, hoping it would wash away these ridiculous thoughts-

And then she was looking at him. Just a moment - maybe a second or two- her eyes met his and she smiled. Maybe he was imagining it. Perhaps it was just a hello. But a second later he was pouring the last drops of liquor down his throat, straightening out his shirt and stepping out onto the lacquered dancefloor.

"May I cut in?" he asked, tapping her partner on the shoulder just as the music began to change once more.

"Oh, Officer Jones! Nice to see you. Why of course, as long as Ms. Swan has no objections?"

She simply shrugged and shook her head. "Just save me a glass of chardonnay," she added, as he slipped away and Killian moved forward to join her.

It was the closest he had been to this woman. And she was just a woman, he reminded himself, no different from the other. Nevertheless, his heart began to thud as they stepped together and the scent of her simple perfume wrapped around them.

It was with a little, unexpected, trepidation, that he slid one arm around her waist, grasping her hand with his other as she laid her palm gently on his shoulders. The dress was thin and light, he could feel the heat of her body through it.

The last few bars had faded away. He smiled at her as the next track began. It was slower. It took a few seconds for him to recognise the familiar lyrics reworked in a new tempo.

 _"Hello_

 _I've waited here for you_

 _Everlong"_

"You came after all," he finally said after a few moments silence.

"I did," she replied, a hint of a smile licking at the corner of her lips.

"I see my persuasive techniques have some effect, then."

In response, she laughed. Her fingers digging a little tighter into his body as she met his eyes. "Didn't want to waste the dress."

"Ah," he nodded, biting his bottom lip as their eyes remaining trained on each other for a second longer, "That would be a shame, indeed."

"So is dancing part of the package?" she continued, with a teasing lilt to her voice.

He paused before answering.

Was she flirting with him?

Running his tongue along the seam of his lips, he dipped his head to the side. "When the occasion calls for it."

"Oh, and what's the occasion?"

The music rose up and he took the chance to spin her out, her skirt flaring as she twirled before drawing her back in and then dipping her over his arm.

Raising his brows, he pulled her back towards him, their chests almost flush, "Didn't want your dress to miss out on all the fun."

/

Okay, okay… So, she was flirting. A little. And it was pretty fun.

And certainly a good way of taking her mind off the fact that less than 24 hours earlier, she had ended a two year relationship. It kept her from thinking about having to find a place to live when she got home (it was his apartment when she moved in and it still felt like his now). It barely crossed her mind about all the questions she would have to answer from friends and family once she returned home. She had eight more days of vacation ahead of her, and she intended to do as much _no thinking_ as possible about any of that for the remainder of it.

When she had seen him across the room (and mentally asking herself how she had missed him for the past two hours) she had silently hoped he would come over. Perhaps the smiles she gave Archie were for _his_ consumption more than the psychiatrist's. It could also be said, that the way she twisted her hips and shook her hair, were not solely for artistic reasons.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

She broke from her reverie to give Officer Jones a pseudo-scathing smile. "You need some new lines."

"'Tis not a line, more a turn of phrase, love."

"Well then," she laughed, "Turn some new ones."

He opened his mouth to say more, but the music was dying down, the song almost over, his hand lingering on her back.

"I'd better-" she gestured back to her table.

"Aye," he nodded, "Me too."

"Thank you for the dance."

She caught a hint of hesitation on his face as he took a step away from her - quickly washed away with a brief, almost bashful smile, punctuated by a whispered, "Same to you, lass."

Feeling light and free from the wine and the music (not from him, from the dancing she told herself) she floated back to her table.

/

It was one dance.

Less than five minutes of contact on a crowded dance floor, in a too hot room with a so-so band. But his fingers still tingled with the memory of holding her. He could still smell her perfume on his shirt. The cracking tension between them as they danced was unmistakable. To him at least.

And as he dove into the shower the following morning, ready for long shift at the helm, he found himself humming the tune to which they had danced. Lathering the soap in his hands, he repeated the lyrics;

 _"And I wonder_

 _When I sing along with you_

 _If everything could ever feel this real forever_

 _If anything could ever be this good again…"_

/

Waking up, ensconced in high thread count sheets, Emma turned away from the shafts of sunlight that poured under the blinds that she had failed to close properly the night before. As she pushed out and stretched her limbs, they slid easily along the smooth fabric.

She jolted into consciousness. Her bed was not this soft. The sheets were nowhere near as luxurious.

Agitated, her palms patted the bed for the familiar form of him. And it only took a moment before she remembered. There was no him.

She was alone.

He was gone.

Her skin glowed, heated from too much alcohol and the beating sun, a light sheen of perspiration flushed over her face. Her heart raced, descending into a stuttering thud.

Then she smiled.

It was over. The fighting, the uncertainty-

For the first time since that fateful argument, a sensation of calm overcame her body.

Oh sure, as she got up and brushed her teeth, mild prickles of panic darted over her. The same fears that had plagued her the day before on a loop in her mind. But the worries seemed less sharp now: like a sun bleached photograph, the details less focused. The bigger picture was emerging.

Sure, in a lot of ways it still hurt like hell. But she couldn't deny, freedom was a flavor she liked the taste of.

/

This place was beautiful.

An azure sea, kissed by a turquoise, cloudless sky. White sands rolling towards the shoreline, where they met the incoming tide, becoming drenched in the warm, frothy waters of the Caribbean Sea.

Emma stood watching the horizon; her sandals dangling from her fingers, her toes sinking into the sand.

When had been the last time she had just _been?_ Just let the world spin around her and stop thinking? Stopped worrying and working and moving and scheduling and all the other inane trappings of modern life that now suddenly seemed somehow irrelevant as she stood on the most stunning stretch of coastline she had ever seen.

She drew out her foot and began to draw circles in the sand with her toes as the lapping tide washed over her skin. Here things seemed so simple away from the hustle and bustle.

Why had it taken so long for her to take a step away from her crazy life and do this? She knew the answer without thinking. She was stubborn. Too stubborn to take a vacation on the chance that it could give a rival a chance to poach a client. Too headstrong and determined to admit a relationship was dead; preferring to let it limp along for painful loveless (sexless) months.

Padding back to her towel, she lay back and stared at the bare, blue sky.

Maybe it was time for a change.

But what change, she wasn't so sure.

Yet.

/

Impulse and rash were not attributes that would usually be attached to Emma Swan. Well planned and calculated however, yes. It was a strange marriage of the two that had given her the idea that evening to seek out another dance with the (she had to admit) rather dashing Officer Jones.

As she'd sat on the beach, barely reading the trashy romance she had downloaded, her mind had begun to plot and plan.

She needed to do something - to prove to herself that she could be different. But here, bobbing about a small cruise liner in the middle of the ocean was not the easiest of places to start.

Later, as she drank Manhattans with Ruby and picked at her dinner, she found herself looking out for him.

She'd liked dancing with him, the way he had held her and the lazy attractiveness of his smile that it only seemed handsome men could pull off. Boston Emma wouldn't think this way. She'd immediately realize that pursuing (in any way) _that_ kind of man would only end in disaster. But this wasn't Boston Emma, this was new Emma. Emma 2.0. Carefree (ish). Impulsive (to a fault). The kind of girl who would undertake subtle research to find the location of the ship's first officer when he failed to turn up for dinner.

Glancing at her watch, she barely registered the time being after ten. On vacation, all normal passage of time warped into something resembling sleep time, sun time, drinks time. This was the latter, if her cocktail filled gut was anything to speak for.

Rapping on his door, she held her breath, hoping that the twenty she had snuck the waiter had bought her the correct cabin number. Her fears quelled when a yawning, mussed-up haired Killian opened the door, squinting against the light that began to pour into his darkened quarters.

Drowsily, he muttered, "Emma?"

"Hi," she replied lightly, suddenly lost for words as the fingers of her left hand tangled into the thin strap of her black leather purse.

"Can I help you?" he asked, barely stifling a yawn that made his eyes crinkle and dimples puncture his cheeks-

Her hands were in his shirt half a second later, her lips pressed against his before he could react. His lips were at first stiff and pursed, quickly softening into her attentions as she pulled him closer, dropping her purse and wrapping one arm around his neck; feeling dizzy at the sensation of another man's lips after an extended stretch of monogamy.

His hands found her waist and for a moment, all was right in the world. Emma Swan was taking chances and making changes. She was taking the bull by the horns, gripping life by the throat-

"Stop," he panted, pulling away.

And her tentative house of cards fell down.

"I shouldn't," he continued, moistening his lips with his tongue, leaving her strangely entranced by his mouth.

"I want to," she insisted, reached again for him, until his hands wrapped around hers.

"No. It's not right-"

"Right?" she laughed, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she watched him swallow heavily, her eyes absentmindedly taking in the shape of his shoulders and the way his t-shirt hugged his chest. She tugged her hands from his.

"What's not right is booking a couples cruise and realizing after 12 hours onboard that your boyfriend is the biggest idiot in the tri-state area. And that you must be the second biggest idiot for taking two years to realize it."

When his jaw fell open, her hand slapped over her own.

What the hell was she thinking - where on God's earth had _that_ came from?

The hallway began to spin and a wave of sickness rose. She stared at him for a moment, too shocked by her own words to speak, until she finally scrambled for her purse and began to run away down the corridor, trying to block out the sound of his voice calling her name.

/

The last thing he had expected when he opened the door was to see _her._ After a 12 hour shift he had fallen into bed, fast asleep before his head had hit the pillow.

So it was with some confusion that he awakened to the sound of rapping on the cabin door. Almost falling out of his bunk, he had staggered towards the sound, stubbing his toe on his discarded shoes as he reached for the handle.

Momentarily, he was blinded by the light from the corridor, his eyes blinking closed, until contrast returned and it was _her._ Tonight, her dress was a vibrant red. Her shoulders were bare. His heart leapt into his throat in surprise. Finally he managed to speak.

"Emma?"

"Hi," she replied, barely more than a whisper. There was something about her posture and the way her fingers toyed with the strap of her purse that made his brow furrow. Something wasn't right.

"Can I help you?" he asked, trying to stifle the burgeoning urge to yawn, narrowing his eyes as she blinked a few times, then-

She kissed him.

God, her lips were soft. Not that he responded at first when they touched his. A jolt of shock paralyzed his body for a second, his brain requiring a moment to understand what was happening.

But when it did, he waited no time in returning her embrace. His hands grasped her waist, pulling her closer to him, titling his head to deepen the kiss, sliding his tongue against hers as blood rushed to his groin and his breath became short.

And that's why when the rational part of him began to shout 'stop', he cursed his sober mind. Selfishly, he wished that he could ignore it, because _damn_ he wanted her.

Pushing her away was hard. But she was drunk and he knew - just knew - she would regret it. And being someone's regret was not something he desired.

"Stop. I shouldn't-"

"I want to," she insisted, curling her fingers tighter around her neck, and, by God, he wanted to drag her back into his cabin and just let out all the bloody sexual frustration that was buzzing in his body-

"No, it's not right-" he insisted. The all-too upright naval officer inside clawing back his baser urges. The same urges cursing him as the soft fabric of her dress escaped his fingers.

And then her features hardened. A haughty laugh proceeded her tossing her hair over her shoulder, while she tipped back her head, looking over at him with steely eyes.

"Right? What's not right is booking a couples cruise and realizing after 12 hours onboard that your boyfriend is the biggest idiot in the tri-state area. And that you must be the second biggest idiot for taking two years to realize it."

The words came forth in a bitter tumble, her body stiffening as they did their damage, her self-depreciation watering her eyes as he watched, dumbstruck. If sense had been available to him, he would have spoken, reached out, touched her - did _something._ But tiredness and surprise rendered him incapable of doing more than watching her turn on her heels and run away down the corridor, only managing to call her name as the last flash of red material disappeared around the distant corner.

/

Foolish feelings translated into hot tears, though if she were honest, it was her own personal revelations rather than his rejection which had them peeling down her cheeks.

God, she was an idiot.

Slamming her cabin door, she sank to the floor, kicking off her heels as she hopelessly tried to wipe away the relentless salty stream. Each breath shook her chest, wracking it with the kind of sobs she was sure she hadn't felt since childhood - when a grazed knee seemed like the end of the world.

Back pressed against the door, Emma felt more foolish than she had ever done before. The foolishness did not so much stem from how she had pursued Officer Jones (and been rejected), but instead from the understanding that she had allowed herself to become embroiled in the kind of situation that left her open to bruising her heart even more than the end of her relationship with Neal had accomplished just days before.

 _ **A/N: If you have enjoyed this, a review would be massively appreciated!**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: So two chapters will have to be three! I couldn't do what I wanted with this story in the word-count I had promised myself so I hop you enjoy this and I plan to have part 3 up very soon!**_

When she awoke, there was a flashing light on the in-room phone, indicating she had a message. Once the room stopped spinning, she dialed zero for the operator and was told there was a message awaiting her.

Curious, she washed off her tear-stained make up and pulled on a sundress, covering her puffy eyes with sunglasses as she walked to the front desk and retrieved the mentioned note. Tearing at the anonymous, white envelope, she stumbled back to her room, ready to spend another few hours hiding away under the thick, down-filled comforter. She paused outside her door as she saw the name of the message's author.

 _Emma,_

 _Please accept my profuse apologies for my poor behavior last night. I'm not a man for excuses, but should you give me the chance to make it up to you, I would be most grateful. The ship spends this evening in port - should you accept (at least in part) my expiation, I will be waiting by the gangway from seven pm._

 _Yours,_

 _Killian_

Her still-weary body sinks to the bed as she stares at the letter. She's surprised and confused - all the while her cheeks turn pink as she remembers the night before. Rubbing her tired eyes, she places the piece of paper on her nightstand and pulls the comforter over her body, hoping that after more sleep, everything will make a little more sense.

/

After spending almost an hour staring at the jeans and camisole outfit that hung on the wardrobe door, Emma was no closer to making a decision. She checked her watch; it was almost 6:30. The night in port meant no onboard dinner party, though room service was offered. How sorely she was just tempted to pull on her pajamas and order a sandwich.

That afternoon had been spent dozing under the fierce sun, trying to forget everything. It had been a semi-successful endeavor. Her unexpected outburst had revealed to herself her true feelings about her break up with Neal. It didn't hurt because she still loved him: it hurt because she felt foolish.

She mentally licked her wounds while sipping coconut milk from its shell. Then, as she waded in the warm coastal water, she began to plan how to move forward once she returned back to reality. Apartments. Leases. Bills. Belongings. So many things to divide and sort.

But the note from Killian remained on her mind throughout. It was one thing she couldn't resolve as she lay on the stunning section of beach she had chosen just after lunch.

Last night she had been a bit drunk and had wanted some attention from a handsome man, surely it was that simple? An ego boost, a rebound - however you put it, that's what it had been. Yes, her cheeks burned at the memory of his rejection (and even more so when she recollected his precursory kiss). And, yes, the idea of facing him now made her toes curl _and_ her head ache.

So it made no sense that she was now sitting on her bed, fresh from the shower, actually contemplating going to meet him.

/

There was only a slim chance that she would be there, he knew that. But he still felt obligated to make the offer. He hadn't been able to shake away the look on her face as she blurted out her pain to him. No one had ever done that before - entrusted him with such knowledge, revealed themselves. Not even when swayed by a few glasses of wine. To be sure, the reason was mostly himself and his spectacular ability to keep people at arm's length.

And that's why he stood, eyeing his watch, seeing the minutes tick by as seven pm became seven ten, then seven twenty…

Rubbing the short beard he somehow managed to get away with wearing on board, he sighed and resigned himself to the fact that he would be spending the evening alone.

Perhaps he should just do as he always did when ashore - drink himself into happy oblivion then maybe charm one of the lonely women who holidayed on the dusky islands. Because that was easy for him. His skin prickled at the thought. It seemed wrong somehow, to contemplate charming one woman, when he had intended to be reconciling with another.

His thoughts were broken by the sound of soft footsteps.

"Hi."

He heard her before he saw her, turning his head to see her looking achingly lovely in simple jeans and a lace trimmed camisole.

"You came," he blurted out, his voice a mixture of disbelief and relief.

"Yeah," she nodded, avoiding his eyes and concentrating on tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Almost didn't," she admitted with a shrug.

"What changed your mind?" he asked softly.

She took a few steps closer, moving to rest her arms on the railing that lined the deck, looking out over the port at which they were docked. "The old Emma would have hid in her cabin. That'd be the easy way to deal with this. And I don't want to be Old Emma anymore, she hasn't exactly been loving life recently. "

A soft smile lit up his face, "Well that's a travesty, love. Life's too short to live a life you don't love."

She looked over at him, her face not revealing much, the twitching corner of her lips told him she was at least amused by his comments.

Finally, she looked away along the port to the glowing lights of its bars and restaurants.

"So then, what's this about making it up to me… ? "

Killian nodded towards the gangway, "I see the new Emma is rather impatient. Follow me, love."

/

Her heart had been racing when she had stepped out onto the deck and seen him. It had taken just five minutes to dress and put on a few coats of mascara after she had suddenly decided that she needed to go meet him. She needed to be brave and maybe a little impulsive and hope that things would turn out differently than last night's disaster. Change was what was needed. This was a place to start.

Seeing him, still waiting thirty minutes after the time he had asked her to meet him, made her inexplicably happy in that moment. He was leaning against the railing, his hair picked up by the breeze, dressed simply in blue jeans and a pale blue button down.

God, he was handsome.

When he turned and smiled she'd gulped down the urge to run, telling her old instincts to calm the fuck down. She came with no expectations other than the ability to tell herself that she could change. She could face him. She could be that girl who let her troubles fall away like water off a duck's back. Yet his smile was entrancing, almost as much as those blue eyes of his that were unfairly beautiful.

Their greeting was almost a blur as she tried to disguise her racing heart, looking away from him so her flushed cheeks would not be visible - suddenly thankful for the dark evening. When she finally met his eyes she barely suppressed the urge to smile.

Yes, she had made the right decision.

/

Long John's was a ten minute cab ride away along the coast. It was a 'crew bar', Killian called it. A rustic wooden structure that was surrounded by the sound of easygoing tropical music. Killian nodded to the barman as they entered and headed straight for the decking area that looked out over the quiet ocean. Only in the distance could you see the fading lights of the docked cruise ships. The stretch of beach below the terrace was empty and tranquil, the peace only broken by the lapping of the tide.

They'd barely set down when two bottles of beer were placed on their table by the barman. Killian greeted him like an old friend before he introduced Emma.

"Julio, Emma, Emma, Julio." The two smiled and shook hands. "This place does the best seafood in the port," he told her as the barman smiled.

"Best kept secret on the island," Julio agreed with a wink, "And you seem like Jones's own little secret. You never bring women here, what gives?"

Emma swore Killian blushed, but it was dark so she bit her lip and watched him with a sideways glance as he fidgeted in his seat.

"Let's just say I owe her one - and on that note, can we have a seafood platter with all the works?"

Julio doesn't pursue the matter and instead nods and replies, "Coming right up."

The silence that ensued as Julio stepped away was less awkward than she had at first feared - though she still felt the weight of what neither had yet to mention. Stilling her nerves with a small sip of beer, she watched him stare out at the ocean as the sun began to set. The sky glowed: fading from an infinite number of pinks and oranges to bright gold where the sun was dipping below the horizon.

"I'm sorry-" she blurted out, clearly startling him if the way his head spun around was anything to go by. "Last night…" she swallowed, "last night, I was _not_ myself."

Killian tilted his head, seemingly considering his response for a moment as her heart raced in awful anticipation. To say she was beginning to regret coming was an understatement.

"I think I promised _you_ an apology for what happened last night, love."

Averting her eyes, she toyed with the edges of the paper napkin on which her bottle sat, "I'm the one who was out of line," she insisted.

"Emma, I'll admit I don't know you well, but the one thing I am beginning to understand is that you find it hard to accept apologies - and compliments."

Her reply was a small shrug.

"I'm going to admit, it was a surprise seeing you at my door. A beautiful woman waking you up is something every man fantasizes about." She dipped her head a little lower. Killian tapped lightly on the table until she looked up again and met his eyes. "My response - well, it wasn't for a lack of your obvious appeal-".

"Killian," she groaned, covering her face with her hand, feeling utterly embarrassed by her behavior.

He leaned a little forward, lowering his voice just slightly. "I just didn't want to take advantage. You seemed…out of sorts."

"Drunk, you mean," she shrugged, trying to shake off her shame.

"Aye," he nodded, "But more than that."

An unspoken acknowledgement passed between them. For a fleeting second, she saw something cross his eyes - something she couldn't name but seemed all too familiar. But before she could process it further, he spoke again.

"Look, I feel bad about the way things… went. Maybe we could start again - try being something resembling friends? There are still six days left on this trip, and I'd hate to think you felt you had to avoid me."

"It would be difficult," she agreed softly, now rolling the damp bottle of beer between her restless hands. "If we could agree to forget about this then…"

"Done," he quipped, taking his bottle and reaching out for hers, tipping the two necks together with a clink.

/

The food was, as he'd promised, fantastic. The platter was more than sufficient for two, overflowing with fresh produce and delicious when washed down with a mouthful of local beer.

They'd chatted as they ate - Emma told him about her job, Killian shared some of his more salacious stories gathered from many seasons at sea.

Finally full, Emma pushed her plate away, interlacing her fingers on the table as she looked Killian square on.

"So Killian, what's your deal?"

"My deal?" he scoffed, matching her pose.

"What makes you tick?"

He leaned back in his chair - a rustic-looking wooden construction created from beach wood. "I love the sea. Always have."

Emma frowned, tilting her head to the side. "There's more to you than just a love of the ocean."

"You're quite the psychologist, aren't you?" he teased.

"I took a few classes in college," she replied, keeping her gaze steady

Deciding that she wouldn't be satisfied with a few offhand remarks, he crossed his legs at the ankles and took a deep breath.

"I like to keep to myself. Some people may call me a loner but I prefer to think of myself as a lone wolf." He grinned and she rolled her eyes. "Crew changes all the time so friendships aren't easy to come by and I don't fraternize with the passengers."

"Sounds lonely… And if you don't fraternize with the clientele, what do you call this, then?" she gestured to the small expanse of table between them.

"A peace offering?"

"Hmmm," she hummed, licking her lips. Emma sank a little further into her chair, "And I thought you said there weren't any rules about these kinds of things."

"There aren't," he replied, with a little nod, curious about the direction this conversation was taking.

"So there is some other reason? I mean a guy like you-" He saw her blush as soon as the words passed her lips. He bit back the urge to smile. "I mean, is there someone special back home?"

A dart of painful recollection sent a sickening sensation to his stomach and for a second, his mind clouded over and the memories of past pain felt as raw and fresh as it ever was. He quickly shook his head, storing the thoughts away for some other time.

"No home. No one special."

Her lips parted, a familiar look of concern passing over her face. God, he's seen it so many times before. Pity didn't sit well with him.

"I'm sorry, I'm prying-" she stammered and he gave her a sympathetic smile.

"It's fine, really. But let's not share our sad stories," he leaned back towards the table, raising a brow as he continued, "Perhaps another drink before we head back?" he held up his empty bottle and she nodded.

But Killian couldn't help but notice the lingering compassion that her eyes wore as she pulled on a quick smile.

/

The night outside of the cities and towns she was used to was an impossibly dark one. With no street lights or rows of high rises, the blackness was all enveloping, with only the glow of the moon and the infinite sparking stars to illuminate the ground below.

It was strangely calming. Emma felt hidden almost, within the shroud of darkness as they left the restaurant. Ever present was the almost hypnoti sound of lapping waves - her step falling into the rhythm of its movements as she walked.

"Am I forgiven?" Killian asked as the sounds of Long John's melted into the distance.

There was a gentle urge to give a flippant reply but Emma quickly settled on a brief, "You are."

She caught the smile that laced his lips as she glanced sideways as he fell into step with her. She tried to ignore the little jump her heart made - she must not find his flirtatious ways attractive. Look where that had gotten her already.

"If you aren't in a great rush to return to the ship, I'd like to show you something."

Curious, she raised her brows. "Something?-"

"Not like that!" he laughed. "Trust me," he added, his tone more serious, a pleading look in his eye.

It was that point that she reminded herself that Old Emma would have made an excuse and said no. And for that reason (perhaps not _only_ that reason) she replied with a shrug, "Sure."

/

"So real pirates lived here?"

She walked carefully across the shingle covered cove. It was small, encroached over by the looming cliffs above and only reached by a steep footpath.

"Not lived, exactly. But they used to camp here - and hide their cargo in these caves to avoid naval patrols."

Emma peered at the series of small caves that dug into the sheer face of the cliff. Each cave mouth was jagged and storm broken, like a series of eerie eyes staring out at the ocean.

"Sounds exciting," she mulled as she picked her way along the cove.

Killian followed her, she could hear his footsteps crunching on the tiny stones. "Usually suicidal, but for the lucky few it led to a very comfortable life."

Turning on her heel, she almost stumbled, the uneven surface catching her off guard. In a split second, Killian's arms took a hold of hers. His grip was strong. A breath caught in her throat as he steadied her, her sandal-clad feet finally gaining traction on the rocky surface.

"Careful," he whispered. Emma bit her lip, managing a smile in reply as she stepped a little back form him.

(Because being only foot away from him and his cologne, and his damn scruff and his accent and his stupidly blue eyes was a _bad_ idea.)

Swallowing hard, she tried to ignore the pull towards him - the one that felt like a tug of gravity when he was near.

"So why do I get the feeling that all this pirate stuff played some part in the whole sailor thing," she breezed as she turned back to look at the ominous caves.

"Because it did," he admitted from behind her. "A cliche, I know. But you can't blame a lad for having a sense of adventure."

She shivered as she imagined this cove 200 years earlier. Men dragging sacks and chests filled with ill gotten gains under the cover of darkness; hiding from naval boats, risking their lives from storm or the hangman's noose, all in the brief hope of fortune.

"I can see how that could be attractive," she admitted. For a moment she paused, just listening to the soft waves.

"You know, I wasn't sure what to expect tonight."

"And are you satisfied?" he replied, quick as a flash.

He circled around her, until both now stood parallel to the shore. The half moon was bright, picking out the tendrils of his hair that danced in the soft breeze and mischievous glint in his eye.

"Yes… pleasantly surprised."

"Only pleasantly?" he teased, his brows raising in amusement

"Stop it. You're shattering all my illusions about handsome men, don't ruin it."

"You think I'm handsome?"

He took a dangerous step closer. She could see from a mile away where this was heading. A little warning signal buzzed in her head. In the past, this would have been her cue to step away. And after last night, there was even more impetus on her to do the same. But her body was humming with the attraction she had been hiding all night - damn, since she had first laid eyes on him. Her bruised heart, yearned to feel a little affection, even if only fleeting. And the look in his eyes - one of lust and want and challenge - was almost more than she could bear.

This time, _he_ kissed her.

His hands cupped her cheeks and she held her breath.

His first kisses: slow. Asking kisses, each one soft and gentle and patient. Reciprocating, her hands found his hips. She tilted her chin, dropping her jaw to deepen the motion, her skin beginning to tingle as his hand slid to her shoulders..

It wasn't, as she expected. His fingers slowly tangled in her hair as she stepped closer, still a sliver of space between them. He was still giving her the chance to stop this: not pushing it to the next level, instead letting them both bask in the unique and fleeting pleasure of a true first kiss. And it was sweet and tender and at the same time burningly intense.

Killian Jones was full of surprises.

But then the heavens opened.

Unexpected, icy blobs of water began to fall upon them, just as her finger had began skim up the cotton of his shirt, soaking up the heat of his body.

They kissed until the downpour thickened, water funning down their cheeks. Emma could feel her hair becoming saturated, the water soaking through her shirt, the material sticking to her skin.

It was Killian who came to his senses. His hand taking hers, he pulled her towards the nearest cave. No sooner had they escaped the rainstorm, than she found his body pressed against hers.

The roughened rock of the cave wall found her back as he stepped towards her. His hands glanced over her hips, cupping her ass through the soaked denim while his kiss became more unrelenting. Nipping at her lips, teasing her with his tongue. He was insistent in his attentions and she could barely keep up. The want and the desire was evident in every heavy breath and every pinch of his fingers.

Emma was left gasping for air as the world spun. The darkness of the cave, the roar of the storm and the taste of his lips her only sensations.

/

It was meant to be the bed that reignited the passions of a fading relationship.

But the fervour that caught fire on its cotton sheets that night was of a very different kind.

They'd dashed through the port when the rain had eased; pulling each other aside for a kiss or a breathless look every dozen or so steps.

Giddy with that unnameable rush that accompanies the exploration of a new lover, they bit back their smiles as they made their way back onto the ship. Mutely, she pulled him towards her cabin, fingers entangling, silent words hanging between them. The consequence of their earlier discussion was an apparent inability of either party to verbalise what was happening.

Killian was happy with this: somewhat. Talking was a quick route to feelings and wants and needs of an altogether different nature.

And that couldn't happen.

Thankfully, she seemed of the same opinion, tugging at his damp shirt, not waiting to open the buttons before pulling it over his head as she pushed him into the mattress and reached down to give him a searing, passionate kiss that made his head spin and all rational thought vanish.

It was a game of give and take. She wound her fingers in his hair; rocking her hips against his until he was cursing, his heart racing- Then he spun them over, one hand angling her head as he consumed her mouth, the other slipping down into her jeans.

The gasp she gave as his fingers slid into her underwear provided even more propellant for his attentions. When he reached her damp heat he felt his stomach clench, circling her as she squirmed beneath his touch, until she reached down and undid the button fly. His fingers slipped inside her, her back arching like a cat's.

 _God_ she'd be the death of him.

He found the spot that had her crying out, his male pride bolstered as she unravelled around his fingers her eyes bright and shining. In the ensuing seconds as she caught her breath, he mumbled, "I can stop…" of course not really meaning it.

"Well I can't," she replied, simultaneously shimmying off her jeans and reaching to pull his lips back to hers.

/

She could kiss him for _hours._

 _Soft lips._

 _Wandering hands._

Kisses that alternated between achingly hot and searchingly tender. The thought of teetering in his embrace for the next few hours was highly tempting.

But her body wanted more. Ever since she had seen him, that first night, anger still brewing in her belly, the attraction had began to burn. It wasn't just the way he looked, or talked, or the way he held himself. It was something far more intangible that had her desperate now to tug off his pants, palming him through the cotton of his boxer briefs, pressing her chest against his as she found it impossible to get close enough.

Reeling from an unexpected early climax, her heart raced and skittered against every touch of his hands. She'd always thought the phrase 'electric touch' was a cliche, but it was the only way she could describe the way she felt as his hands pulled down the material of her bra.

"Fuck," she moans as fingers and lips attacked the bare skin, her own hands sliding down the smooth, warm skin of his back as he kissed and cherished every inch of bare flesh. Taking his time.

Taking too much time.

In a second of consciousness, she paused, panting.

"Condom?" she asked. He looked up from her chest - all mused up hair and lusty eyed grin.

"Aye," he nodded, leaning back to his jeans, pulling one from his pocket. "I, I always-" he began, bumbling an excuse.

Dammit was he blushing?

"Doesn't matter," she insisted, unhooking her bra with one hand and tugging at the material of his underwear with the other.

Heart thumping ever louder in her chest, she slid beneath the cool sheets as he did was was needed. Her body tingling from her head to her toe. Nervous anticipation mingled with excitement and curiosity as she slipped down her panties.

 _How would it be?_

The question lingered on her mind as he slipped under the covers beside her, one hand curving around her waist as the two allowed a brief moment where their eyes met.

Pulling him towards her, she parted her legs, urging him to nestle his body between them, the heavy heat of his erection pressing against her belly as he rested his arms on either side of her.

"Come here," she smiled, tilting her hips and anchoring her hands on his own.

"Yes Milady," he teased, the flirtatious glimpse in his eye burning into lust as she guided him inside her.

Her body ached. Her heart swelled. From slow beginnings, a quick, passioned pace came easily to them. She let the tides of their actions wash away all her reservations as one thought only remained.

This had been a very good idea.

/

Not to overstate matters, but Killian was not unaccustomed to women. He found a uniform and an accent to be most beneficial in these matters.

But this was not a mere conquest. Not a number or a notch.

She was beautiful, witty, sweet… sexy. But laid before him, she was more. She fit beneath his body in a way that he had never contemplated before. They moved together like seasoned lovers. Quickly, he mapped her responses, his heart crooning with joy when she moaned and gasped.

He wanted her. Oh he wanted her.

But mostly he wanted to pleasure her: to make her feel and writhe, to cry out and scream. To feel wanted and desired and all those other thousand things she seemed to have been deprived of.

And that was the most unfamiliar feeling at all.

/

Tangled sheets. Damp limbs. Racing hearts.

Not once, but twice they had-

(What - had sex? Made love…? Quickly, she banished that thought.)

A rapid and burning first coupling was followed less than an hour later by something slower and more measured. She smiled at the still-fresh memories.

Flushed and glowing, she looked over at him. He lay face down, arms buried beneath the pillow on which he lay his head, the slow rise of his chest a sure sign he was sleeping.

Her restless fingers played with the silver ring she wore on her right hand.

It had been _amazing._

Not just good. Not just, it's been a while and I enjoyed it. But _goddamn I didn't know that sex could be like that_.

There had been no awkwardness. No moments to think. They had been in sync from the beginning. He seemed to know what she wanted before even she did. Ever touch was measured and considered. Every move of their bodies _just right._

She bit her lip and lay back to look at the the ceiling fan that made lazy circles above her.

Of all the turns she had considered this holiday taking, this was the last one she had ever imagined when she had clicked pay all those months ago.

And that was a very, very good thing.

 __ _ **A/N If you have enjoyed this, a review or a message would be very appreciated. I'm struggling (again) with writer's block. It makes getting the words down so hard - even when I know what I want to say I doubt myself so much. Your support means everything.**_

 _ **Also, huge thanks to the bestest beta/most wonderful friend Nickillian/Ztofan.**_


	3. Chapter 3

"Shit!"

Still basking in post-coital afterglow, this was not the way Emma expected to be woken.

" _Bleedin_ ' _fuck_!"

Her eyes sprang open to the sight of Killian trying to pull his still damp pants over his rather attractive arse, almost falling back onto the bed in the process.

"Good morning to you too," she yawned, enjoying the view as he wrestled with the fabric. "What's got you all riled up?"

"I'm bloody late - early shift. I start in- "he paused and looked at his watch- "fuck, nine minutes."

"Just enough time to change?" she chuckled as he pulled his inside out shirt over his head. He was quite the sight in his wrinkled clothes and his hair pointing in every direction but the right one. Her heart did a little jump.

Leaning down, he kissed her on the cheek, "I didn't want to leave like this…" he began.

"It's fine," she insisted, giving him a tentative smile, "We can talk later?"

"Aye," he nodded, "I finish at three."

"Okay, come find me," she whispered, shivering a little as he gave her another quick smile; one fresh and honest, not a hint of swagger.

The door was swinging shut as she pulled his still-warm pillow over her eyes. "Bleedin' fuck indeed."

/

"Don't say a word," Killian sighed as he slammed the door, heading straight for the slim wardrobe next to his bunk.

"Wasn't goin' to," Will smirked from his place, still tucked up in bed on the other side of the cabin.

Hanging his uniform on the wardrobe door, Killian stepped into the small bathroom cubicle. He had no time for a shower, so he had to satisfy himself with a quick face wash and brushing his teeth. He was tugging off his shirt as he stepped back into the room.

"If I'd of known you weren't coming back last night, I would have had Belle 'round."

Killian grimaced at the mention of Scarlet's sometime hook-up from the ship's small library.

"Wasn't exactly planned, mate," he snapped as he worked on replacing his jeans with his regulation khakis.

"Night on shore?" Will probed.

"None of your business, mate," he replied, quickly spraying on some deodorant before grabbing his clean shirt.

"Not like you to play coy," Will continued. Damn, he was like a dog with a bone, that lad. Never gave up.

"First time for everything," Killian quipped as he finished the last button and tucked in his shirttails.

Scarlet yawned loudly, his feet thumping on the floor as he swung his legs over his bed. "Now I know there's something wrong."

Trying to ignore his persistent bunkmate, Killian threaded his belt through the loops on his trousers, quickly fastening the buckle.

"Alright, I know when I'm gettin' the silent treatment. But mate, you might wanna wash the lipstick off ya neck before you head up on deck."

Groaning, Killian dashed to the small mirror behind the door. Just above his collar a smudge of soft pink lip stick, Emma Swan shade. Grabbing a facecloth, he wiped away the small stain before dashing out of the door with two minutes to spare.

All the time, trying to ignore the conspicuous chuckling coming from the other side of the room.

/

He was trying to concentrate.

Honestly.

But hell, he could smell her on his skin. The lack of a shower had been both a boon and a hindrance to his day. Every time he moved he was accosted by a memory of his skin against hers. No at all unpleasant, but a potent distraction from his duties.

He was thankful that once they moved out of dock it was clear, open ocean ahead of them - at least until the shift change. The sun was predictably bright and honest, the sky a pearlescent shade of duck-egg blue, dazzling except with a pair of sunglasses. With his hands pressed against the console, he watched the lazy scene before him - gentle waves, sparse clouds and occasional flocks of seabirds passing by.

This. This was what he loved. The ultimate freedom to turn in any direction and (theoretically at least) go where he pleased. Normally his mind would wander to his plans for the future: the route he had planned, the sights he would see…

But today things were different. When the bridge was empty and the seas calm, his only thoughts were of last night.

A secret smile laced his lips as he recollected the way it had felt to be with her. The way she had looked at him when she came. The way their bodies had rocked together in unexpected synchrony. It hadn't been awkward or forced. Every second had been delicious and satisfying and even worse - had him desperate for more of her. Her smile. Her kiss. Her body…

He tried to shake away the memories. Tried instead to focus on charts and coordinates and shipping lanes…

But was not altogether successful.

/

She had told herself that retiring to her cabin was because the 3pm sun was a little too hot, and a siesta was required - but who was she kidding?

In fact, she was barely inside, had just dropped her bag to the floor when there was a sharp knock at the door. When she opened it, she wasn't expecting to see him there in his goddamn uniform. It took all her restraint to pull him inside and slam the door shut before fusing her lips to his.

"Hello to you too," he groaned against her lips as they each took a breath.

"Sorry…" she apologized, "the uniform…"

His soft chuckle eased her mild embarrassment and she stood back a little, her fingers still clinging to the collar of his shirt. "Is feeling a little stale right now. Didn't have time for a shower this morning."

This time Emma laughs, the memory of his rush to get dressed that morning still fresh. "You could…" she shrugged, blushing a little as she turned her head towards the cabin's bathroom. "Unless you'd rather do something else first…"

With one hand, she took hold of his ass and squeezed firmly, enjoying the guttural groan he let out and the way his eyelids fluttered closed. The unexpected moment of daring startled her for a second: the one second before he kissed her again.

"God, you're irresistible," he murmured.

"Oh," she cried when he slipped his hands behind her thighs, picking her up and walking them the few paces to the bed, slowly lowering her to the mattress, softly kissing her shoulder as he moved.

As his kisses moved across her chest she felt a brief moment of panic. The rational, level headed part of her protested that instead of this - (Damn, his lips felt good as he peeled back her bikini) - they should really be having a mature conversation about the night before. Yet strangely, as his fingers began to untie the strings of her swimsuit and he sank to his knees, this part of her was overruled by a very vocal New Emma.

/

The shower was, of course, the usual minuscule design found in a mid-range cabin. But somehow they had managed to squeeze in together. Laughing, talking, kissing, touching… She'd lathered him up with her coconut soap (Will's gonna love that, he thought briefly, until her hands had dipped low enough that that was the last thing on his mind).

Then he'd washed her hair, working her shampoo into a huge dome of bubbles that at once made him laugh and then struck him as ridiculously adorable. (At that point he had thoroughly chastised himself - with a firm reminder that wasn't what this was. Whatever it was between them). He'd sighed internally until the water ran cold and they ran, shrieking out from under the icy torrents, quickly wrapping each other in towels and falling on the bed.

/

"So," he smiled a little later, curled up beside her on the bed, towel wrapped low on his waist, "Am I your official rebound now?"

Emma twisted her mouth and rolled her eyes. "What's so bad about a rebound?"

She waited for his reaction, rolling on her side to face him.

"In theory, nothing. But it doesn't do much for a man's ego-"

Swatting him with her arm, Emma grinned. He was teasing her. Though she did catch a flicker of something like honesty in his eyes.

"As if yours needs any help. But, no, you don't feel like a rebound," she admitted, moving a little closer to him. "If you were, I'd only be doing this to prove a point."

"So why _are_ you doing this?" he asked, catching her in his steely blue gaze.

Suddenly shy, she dipped her head, shrugging gently, "I- I like you and I think you like me, so…"

"So…"

"I don't want to overthink this. I mean, it's not like we're ever going to see each other again - right?"

He shifted beside her, his hand reaching out to cup the curve of her hip. He squeezed gently and she looked up again.

"Most likely not, no," he agreed with a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is, that I don't know what we're doing. A fling? A holiday romance…" She cringed as she said the words, both terms feeling cheap on her tongue.

"So I'm the cabana boy, then?" he asked ruefully.

"No!" Emma cried, avoiding his gaze, "And now I'm just going to wait for the ground to swallow me up… where's a sink hole when you need one?"

"I'm sorry," he apologized, using a finger to tip up her chin before he kissed her gently on the lips. "I'm making this awkward."

"How about we just agree to take this one day at a time?" she suggested, "I mean, that is if you want to see me again…?"

"Hmm, let me think about it…" he teased until she grabbed a small throw pillow and began to lightly swat him with it, both of them dissolving into fits of laughter until he put his hands up yelling, "I surrender!"

A little short of breath and with a definite lightness in her head, she ran her finger along his prominent collar bone as they both took a moment. Finally he whispered, "I'd love to see you again. And on a ship this size, it's going to be hard not to."

She felt there was some kind of mixed compliment in there, but she understood. Trying to avoid each other would have just made her trip awkward and the next five days difficult for both of them. "So really," she replied, "We have no choice. We have to continue doing… this…"

"Whatever this is?" he suggested.

She nodded, "Exactly."

Then before the conversation could flounder into further awkwardness, she pulled him in for another kiss.

And then some.

/

"So how many passengers have you hooked up with, over the years? When on a ship, I mean?"

The tone of her voice was one of saucy challenge but there is something in the way she dropped her shoulder and bit her bottom lip that told him this is more than a casual question.

"None," he admitted, pulling his sunglasses to the top of his head so he could see her green eyes more clearly.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously," he echoed. She dug her fingers into the soft sand between them as she seemed to consider her response.

"Does that surprise you?" he prompted.

Taking a handful of sand, she let the soft, golden grains filter though her fingers, the gentle breeze scattering them over the towels on which they lay.

"Yes," she finally replied. "But a lot of things about you seem to surprise me."

"Hmm," he mumbled, not sure if that was a compliment or not. "I haven't been a monk. But mixing business with pleasure has always been something I've strived to avoid."

"Until now?"

"Apparently so," he agreed, noticing the way she looked away from him as he did. In the past couple of days they had not talked any further about what was happening (or wasn't) between them. He spent his free time with her - on shore or in her cabin. Talking, sharing meals… engaging in other pleasurable activities. It was the longest time he had spent with one woman in years. How steadfastly he had previously avoided this - becoming close to someone - was something of a matter of personal pride. And yet here he was, in the company of this beguiling woman who he just couldn't get enough of.

"Change is good, don't they say?"

Her comment was flippant with a terse smile that told him that the conversation was becoming perhaps a little too personal for her liking. But he wasn't going to let her get away that easily.

"Sometimes," he began cautiously, pausing as a small group of children ran by, trailing a brightly colored kite behind them. "Most changes that I have made have been out of necessity rather than choice."

"Oh?" Emma asked.

Killian reached back and scratched behind his ear - a nervous habit he had held since he was a child.

"I joined the Navy when I was 16. I'd always had a thing for boats and pirates… But the real reason was to escape. My parents died when I was young, my brother and I were cared for my different aunts and uncles over the years. He left as soon as he could, joined up. A few years later I followed him."

"I'm sorry-" she began, until he held up his hands. He didn't want her pity for long passed events.

"But it was a good decision?"

"Aye," he nodded, "I've travelled the world. Got a fair share of stories under my belt."

"Why did you leave?"

"The Navy?" he asked. She nodded. Killian took a deep breath. This was perhaps the one element he would have brushed over if he could. But he had revealed a little of himself already, a bit more wouldn't hurt. "Not my finest hour."

She raised her brows, a smile licking at her lips.

He lay back against the towel, pulling his sunglasses back down again. He didn't want to see the inevitable look of judgement on her face. The one he always got on the rare occasion he told a woman about his past.

"I was having an affair with my superior officer's wife."

He waited a second, but she didn't say anything so he continued. "I was an idiot. She was a little older, full of charm, beautiful… She promised me she would leave him. Once their son was older…"

"But then-?"

"Her husband found out of course. Perhaps it was inevitable… I was given a stark choice: her or my career. I chose her."

"So you quit?"

"Yep," he added, "Just like that. Ten years and I was out without so much as a thank you for my service to my country."

"And she…"

"Is still very happily married, apparently. When I told her what I had done she called me a fool. Told me I had misunderstood her intentions. I also found out a little later that I was not her only conquest among her husband's unit."

"That's really shitty."

"Aye, it is."

/

Prepared for a day relaxing in the sun, she hadn't expected this to turn out to be a heart to heart. But here he was, revealing intimate details about his past.

As she digested what he told her, she focused on the sounds of the ocean.

He had quite the past. She couldn't agree with all his choices but she understood fortune had not favored him. When he had called himself a lone wolf she hadn't realized how much truth was in there. It made sense, then, to keep people away. She got that. People hurt you. They lie, they cheat, they use, they disappoint…

"I bet you now think I'm some rotten scoundrel," he muttered.

"Probably more misunderstood?" she sighed. "What's in your past, is your past. You can't change it. But it doesn't have to define you."

"That's a good point," he nodded, turning his head and giving her a pointed look that cut straight through her.

/

He touched her with an unfamiliar tenderness.

With Neal, things had become, well, strained. Once loving and passionate, their relationship had descended into indifferent, perfunctory sex before finally ceasing completely. And he didn't seem to mind.

The contrast was stark, her conscious struggling to make sense of such intimacy under such circumstances.

Killian's fingers trailed down her body: from her shoulder, over the rise of her breasts - drawing lazy circles on her skin as he followed the path with his lips and tongue.

He was working that night until at least midnight. When he told her, she had tried not to show her disappointment, settling on an insolent pout. Then he had pointed out that he still had almost an hour before his shift began.

And that's how she ended up half naked, strewn over her bed, his body hovering over hers as she shivered and sighed beneath him. She had to give him some credit - the man sure knew what he was doing.

His fingers played with the lace of her panties; his fingernails brushing against her skin. When he pressed his lips against her stomach, tendrils of disheveled locks, brushed against her, making her squirm.

It was bliss: leisurely, lazy, lovely bliss.

Emma stretched out, pressing her hips up towards his lips, moaning softly.

"I love the sounds you make."

Emma blushed.

"I've always been scared someone will hear me," she replied in a shuddered whisper.

"And?" he asked, pausing his actions, warm breath cooling her damp flesh where his kisses had fallen.

"And…" she hesitated.

"You shouldn't be ashamed of enjoying yourself, love."

Her cheeks grew hotter.

"Make as much noise as you want."

There was a shift change in his demeanor. Her bra was tugged downwards, her breasts springing free, immediately he latched on, sucking against one nipple as he used his fingers to toy with the other.

She bit back a groan.

"Don't hold back on my account," he insisted, his tone deep and ridiculously erotic.

Killian's tongue lapped against her skin as he moved to relieve her of the rest of her underwear, pushing at the lace of her panties until she helped him move them down her legs.

"I can tell you are enjoying this," he boasted as his fingers found how wet she was. How turned on she was.

God, she was burning up inside.

He teased her, trailing his fingers back and forth until she bit out a strangled, "Fuck."

"What love? Something bothering you?"

He slid a single finger inside her, she clenched immediately against him, greedy to feel some sensation inside her walls.

"Jesus."

He licked the underside of her breast, squeezing it gently as he moved down her body, finally pressing his tongue against her clit. Arching his finger inside her.

"Oh God."

The burning grew. Curling and coiling inside her, growing and changing as he sucked and pressed and twisted.

More fingers and she was panting. Moving faster and yearning moans falling from her lips. A few more moments and she felt like she was about to burst with pleasure. On cue, Killian began to suck lightly on her clit. It was enough, just enough-

Sensation shattered though her. Electric, hot, cold - everything all at once. Cries echoed from her throat. Vibrations wracked her body.

She was pretty sure the cabin next door heard everything.

/

Biting into a fresh slice of watermelon, Emma sighed happily as her taste buds exploded in pleasure and trickles of juice rolled over her tongue.

"Good?" Killian asked from across the table.

"Delicious," she smiled, licking her lips.

Behind his coffee cup, Killian hid a smirk. For a woman so outrageously sexy, she could be fantastically cute at times. They'd met for breakfast and he'd taken her ashore - promised to show her a few sights before his shift began.

"Do you mind if we take a little detour on the way to the lighthouse?" he asked.

"Sure - why?"

"You'll see," he promised, registering the curious glint in her eye as she sunk her teeth into another slice of fruit.

After breakfast, he took her hand and walked her towards the Marina. It was cloudier than usual and she shivered a little until he pulled his arm around her shoulder. He liked the way she felt, pressed up against him.

They approached the gates of the Marina and Killian stepped away to have a few words with the man at the guard house. A moment later the gate was open and they walked along the jetty where the boats bobbed in the wrinkled water.

Finally they paused and Killian gestured to a small boat, about 30ft long with an enclosed cabin and steps that led below the hull.

"Emma, I'd like you to meet The Jolly Roger."

"Wait -" she hesitated, "This is… yours?"

"Aye. Or at least it will be in two weeks' time."

Emma smiled, giving him a strange look as she walked along the boat's bow. The white hull shone under the late morning sun. The livery was blue and gold with a small bronze plaque bearing the vessel's name.

"It's amazing…"

"That it is," he nodded with pride, "Has taken me almost five years to get the funds together to buy her."

He stepped onto the deck, holding out his hand and gesturing for her to join him.

"Will you have much time to use it?" she asked.

"I will," he affirmed. "I guess I didn't mention, this is my penultimate cruise."

She'd walked past him so she had to turn on her heel so she was facing him again. "Really? And then what?"

"Then I see where the wind takes me," he grinned, taking a seat on the padded bench that ran along one side of the hull, tapping the space beside him for her to join him.

"I thought people only did that in movies. I mean, just quit their jobs and ran away," she shook her head as she sat.

"I don't consider it running away, love. And in any case, why not? You only live once."

"It's crazy…" she insisted, her mind trying to imagine giving up her life at home - her job (that she wasn't that fond of), that apartment she didn't have, the friends who were all growing up and settling down-

"Crazier than just plodding along for the next thirty years without living my life? Following my dreams?" He twisted on his seat to face her, studying her expression as her face gently fell.

"I could never do something like that," she said softly, almost to herself.

"Why not? You're young. You can do whatever you want."

"Not that young," she insisted with a wry smile, "But anyway, I'm a coward."

/

Her words hung in the air for a moment, until the warm, salty breeze pushed them away. Killian frowned. Where had this self-doubt come from? It was so at odds from what he had learned about her.

"Would a coward have stayed on what was meant to be a couple's cruise, by herself, like you did?"

"That's not that big a deal and I think that was just me being stubborn." Her eyes narrowed, her brow creasing as she seemed to be concentrating on the timbers of the deck.

"Don't you have dreams though…Things you want to achieve?"

She laughed, a short chortle that spoke of bitterness. "Dreams lead to disappointment. I learned over the years that it's safer to keep your expectations low."

Killian leaned a little closer, a sudden urge to soothe her overwhelming him. But they weren't a couple. They weren't anything with a name. So as much as he wanted to reach out and touch her, he settled on using words as comfort. "Dreams are what make life worth living, love. They're little secrets we carry with us. When things get tough we take them out and look at them - remind ourselves why we do what we do. Why we live, why we try. It's when you give up on dreams that life ends."

"That's very poetic for a sailor," she smiled wryly, giving him a sideward glance.

"I do have other interests outside of the nautical realm," he promised. "You see, I think most people live their lives in straight lines - never veering from the path that they think they should be on. Not that there is anything wrong with that as such. But all the best experiences I've had have been unexpected - things I haven't planned." He wanted to add _like meeting you_. But he just knew it would scare her away, and although they only had a couple more days, he wanted them for all they were worth.

"So you're saying I should zig-zag a little?" she said, interrupting his reverie.

"You could put it like that. I see it as enjoying the scenery of life. You can't slow the world down, but you can make the journey more interesting."

"Hmmm, interesting sounds good," she hummed, tilting her head until the sunlight made the golden strands of her hair sparkle. Her hand slid along the seat between them, her fingers brushing his until they somehow became entwined. He daren't say anything, just told himself to enjoy this moment of casual intimacy.

And when she leaned her head against his shoulder, he tried to tell himself his feelings were merely a passing fancy.

/

Blue silk, draped at the neckline, cut on the bias to where it swirled around her ankles.

It had been too expensive but she hadn't been able to resist. Her hair was set in curls and piled atop her head in a half-done chignon - formal but still her.

The last night of the cruise was a formal affair. Black tie and evening gowns. Champagne and canapé reception.

Searching through the crowded room, she smiled at her tablemates, took an offered glass of champagne and held her breath as she waited to see him.

"Good evening."

She started at the voice and the warm breath of air that ghosted across her shoulder, spinning around instantly to see its source.

"Killian," she exhaled slowly, instantly caught in his blue gaze, his face not six inches from her own. A smile crept upon her, almost voluntarily, as she took in his smart tuxedo and the white shirt that showed off his Caribbean tan.

"Emma," he replied with a quirk of his eyebrow, taking her free hand and pressing a slow, soft, warm kiss against it.

Her heart fluttered a moment, from his closeness, the kiss, perhaps the sip of champagne.

"You surprised me," she whispered, biting gently on her bottom lip as he released her hand and took his own glass of champagne from a passing waiter.

"Then my work here is done," he teased and pretended to move away from her, so she grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

"You're not getting rid of me that easily," she promised, her eyes darting from his smirking lips to his gorgeous eyes.

He moved a little closer to her ear, sliding his arm to her waist, "I'm glad to hear it," he whispered.

Emma felt herself melt a little at his intimate tone and the feel of his hand on her waist.

"And guess who will be dining at your table tonight."

She looked at him in surprise, the Captain had already dined at their table. They weren't expecting another officer to do so.

"I pulled in a favor," he explained, with a nonchalant shrug.

"I'm glad to hear it," she replied, while a little voice inside her head tried to remind her that this was nothing but a harmless fling.

/

Sitting beside her, laying on his best charm for the other occupants of the table, he could almost pretend, for a moment, that this was real. That he and Emma were more than a something temporary, something casual…

He slid his hand onto her knee as they waited for their entrees. The amorous couple opposite them were regaling the table with a risqué story about how they were almost caught in flagrante delicto, half naked on the beach that afternoon. Next to Emma, Archie's ears turned bright pink and the group of students who made up the other side of the table seemed confused.

"You were trying to get a sun-tan?" one asked.

Beside him, Emma smirked, choking on her wine as Ruby began to explain using even more euphemisms which made the confused Brazilians look even more puzzled.

As the verbal chaos ensued, Emma turned and smiled at him. A true, sparkling smile that glittered in her eyes.

His heart jumped. He squeezed her fingers, their eyes meeting and her smile freezing for a second as she seemed to see something in the way he was looking at her. He saw it too. It was happiness. A simple, pure moment that didn't involve bare skin or saucy language, just a connection between two people when everything becomes clear.

And that's when he knew.

Biting back his feelings, he leant down and pressed a small kiss on her shoulder, wondering and hoping she felt the same way too.

/

It had a certain symmetry to it.

Being swung around the dance floor, swaying in his arms. Much like the night after they had first met, only this time she danced only with him. Song after song, until the arches of her feet began to ache and she begged for a brief rest. Ruby was there before he could join her, insisting on her turn, "Victor here hates dancing and I've been deprived all trip," she pouted, until Killian took her hand and pulled her into the floor for a lively number.

Emma nursed her glass of wine as she slipped off her sandals, bunching and flexing her toes as she watched the pair glide across the floor. Ruby's hands wandering perhaps a little too closely towards his ass; Killian's face looking quite genuinely shocked (which only served to make Emma laugh a little to herself).

Every now and then he would catch her eye, perhaps grin or wink. Butterflies rose in her stomach at each glance.

She recognized this feeling. This first fluttering of something more. It was accompanied by an unwelcome, hollow sadness. After tomorrow, she would probably never see him again. She would go back to Boston. He would soon begin his travels to who knows where. And that would be that.

A small battle of wills erupted inside her. She could spend the night mourning the impending separation. Or, she could push those thoughts aside and just enjoy their last night together.

After a deep gulp of wine she straightened her shoulders and chose the latter.

/

"Remember this?" he asked as he held open the door to the deck, his other hand occupied by a champagne holding ice bucked and two long stemmed glasses.

"How can I forget? You were my stalker."

"Please," he began as they stood against the railing, "I was merely being a gentleman."

"You keep telling yourself that, buddy," she teased.

Killian raised his brows at her, before swiping up the bottle of champagne and removing the foil. With a firm twist of the wrist the cork came free and went flying out into the midnight-blue waters.

He quickly gave her a glass and retrieved his own, before filling them both and raising his glass in a toast.

"To unexpected, yet, memorable meetings."

She met his eye, "To unexpected and memorable meetings," she repeated. Emma's tongue ran along her bottom lip as she swallowed. "I can't believe this is the final night. This time tomorrow I'll be boarding my flight back to Boston." She turned and rested her arms against the metal railing. She shivered a little and Killian quickly pulled off his jacket to put over her shoulders. It was a cliche, he knew. But he didn't care.

"Thanks," she whispered.

"I'm going to miss you," he said without thinking, instantly cursing himself when she started at his words. When she didn't reply, he continued, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"

"No," she said, stopping him, placing a hand on his chest as she faced him, "I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't miss you too."

His heart thudded in his chest as the moment stretched out between them, uncertain and hopeful.

"Do you have to go back to Boston?" he said, trying to make it sound like a joke, smiling as he spoke, but underneath he was most serious.

She shrugged, "I think my boss would say something if I extended my vacation."

"Then quit."

"What?" she snapped, her mouth dropping open in surprise.

"You said you don't even like your job. Leave. Take a chance on something new. I have space on The Jolly, you could come with me, we could-"

"Are you serious?"

"Yes," he insisted, his voice low and soft, his hands shaking a little at his boldness. He took a sip of champagne to still his nerves.

She looked out over the water. The dim lights on the deck silhouetted her face, hugging the curve of her cheek and the fullness of her lips. God, he'd miss her.

"I can't," she finally replied, shaking her head.

"Why not?" he asked, as if it were simple.

And he knew it wasn't.

But also it was.

Emma seemed to hesitate, her fingers tightening on the glass as her breathing shudder. She frowned, "This doesn't happen in real life. People don't meet this way. They don't go on a cruise and fall in lo-" she paused mid-word, her eyes meeting his, wide with panic.

Love.

Yes, he loved her. And she loved him?

But rather than admit what they both knew was the truth, he shook his head, "Aye, they don't."

"And things like this don't happen to people like me…" she continued, avoiding looking at him as she drained the rest of her glass.

"People like you?"

"Yeah…ordinary people."

"You're far from ordinary, love. In fact, I'd call you extraordinary, if anything," his words were honest, lacking the flirtatious lilt that often peppered his conversations.

"And you're an incorrigible flirt," she countered with a weak smile.

"Aye," he smiled sadly, "That I am." He looked away, throwing back his head and watching the myriad of stars above him shimmer and shift. Whenever he felt overwhelmed, he would look up at the heavens to remind himself of just how small a part of this universe he actually was.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

He sighed and turned back to her. "No, you're right. It's a bad habit formed through years of keeping people at arm's length. I'm quite the expert."

"Perhaps we both are," she suggested, pulling his jacket closer around her shoulder. "It's getting late and I'm pretty tired…"

His shoulders sagged a little, his brow creased as he asked, "Would you like me to walk you back to your cabin?"

She hesitated, before shaking her head. "Actually, I think I'll be okay."

And before he could protest, she left: a lipstick stained champagne glass the only proof she was ever there.

/

One inside, she ran. Her legs shaking with every step. She counted the seconds until she reached her cabin door, wrenching it open and darting inside.

She was a coward.

There she was, being offered an opportunity to make those changes that she had said she so wanted. And she had ran.

Standing there on deck, her heart racing, the bubbles of the champagne tingling her tongue, she had found herself teetering on the brink of something new and unexpected _._ And she had panicked.

The earnest look in his eyes, the expression on his face of hope and want (which she knew she felt underneath her stony mask): it was all too much. Too soon.

Yet now she was alone, it all felt wrong. She missed his arms around her, his face, his laugh… She pulled on the lapels of his coat and breathed in the scent of his cologne.

Confused and unhappy, she walked over to her bed. Her head ached.

This wasn't meant to happen.

Things like this _aren't meant_ to happen.

How did she go from ending one relationship in a blaze of flames and almost beginning another within days?

She couldn't deny it any longer. That's what had happened. Somehow, their lives on board had been entangled over their week in each other company, and for all intents and purposes he was hers. And she was his.

But not anymore.

She should go. She should explain. She should talk to him-

But then what?

It had been foolish all along. Play acting at being a couple, while all along knowing that once the ten days were up, that was it.

So it was fear that made her body freeze. It was resignation that told her things were better this way.

Suddenly tired and exhausted, she kicked off her shoes and fell asleep wrapped in his tuxedo jacket.

/

He wanted to follow her. He really did.

But he was frightened. Perhaps she would reject him again? Perhaps he would push her farther away until their words turned bitter and resentful.

Or maybe he was just a foolish prick who should know better. Of course she'd rejected him. She had her whole damn life back home and all he had to offer was a few planks and a sail.

So instead, he picked up the half-drunk bottle and made his way back to his cabin, chugging back the remaining contents as he reflected on how much a fool he really was.

/

"Oy, wake up you tosser!"

Groaning, Killian scowled as he felt something hit his head.

"Fuck off Scarlett."

Peeling open his eyes, Will grinned at him. "You just missed a lovely lass dropping that off for ya." He gestured to the object that had hit him on his head. His jacket from the night before.

"Is she still there?" he asked, head pounding.

His bunk mate shrugged, "Nah, looked like she was in a hurry."

Deflated and suffering from drinking too much champagne (if the empty bottle in his bed was anything to go by) he slowly sat up and held the jacket in his hands.

It smelled like her. She always wore the same perfume. Something floral that mixed with the coconut-scented soap she had brought with her and he had had occasion to use.

Just then, he noticed something in the inside pocket. A piece of paper that certainly wasn't there last night.

Grabbing it, he unfolded the note, a sheet of the embossed letterhead they kept in the cabins.

 _Killian,_

 _I'm sorry for last night. Truly._

 _I need you to know that our time together meant something. I know I never said it, but it did. You weren't a rebound. Or the cabana boy._

 _I hope you can forgive me._

 _Yours,_

 _Emma_

His eyes blurred as he read the words.

Of course he bloody forgave her!

Quickly, he rolled out of bed, searching around for a pair of pants and pulling on a worn t-shirt and a scuffed up pair of Converse. As Will watched open-mouthed, he bounded out the door, paper clutched in his hand.

He reached her cabin just moments later, and the door was open. He slowed, his mouth dry, trying to still his heartbeat as he smoothed back his hair. Stepping forward he held his breath-

 _She wasn't there._

Inside instead was a maid, pulling the covers from the bed he had some to know so well.

"Where is she?" he demanded, "Ms. Swan?"

The maid grimaced at him, he didn't know her name and now was not the time to get familiar. "She's left. We docked earlier and she decided to disembark. Makes my life easier," she shrugged, before turning back to him and continuing with her task.

Killian dragged his fingers through his hair.

He didn't have her number or address, or even the name of her employer. And he already knew she kept all her details locked down - wasn't listed even in the phone book (something she had learned working in security, so she said). He pulled on the strands, taking out his frustration until he winced in pain.

So that was that then.

It was over.

/

 _Ten days later_

It was hard graft setting up a boat for a long trip - even harder on your own. He muttered a curse under his breath - bloody Will Scarlet should have been there an hour ago.

For only ten am it was far too hot. Sweat trickled down his back as he heaved cases of water and supplies over from the dock, ready to store in the hold. If everything went to plan, he would be able to set sail the following morning.

He couldn't wait. Open ocean with only himself for company.

Bloody perfect.

The wind picked up and suddenly he paused. There was something familiar about the scent it carried. Floral tones mixed with coconut…

"Emma?" he cried as he spun back to face the dock.

His heart dropped when he saw her. Dressed in simple blue jeans and a white t-shirt, a large blue tote bag on the ground beside her.

"Hi," she replied, with a nervous smile and a small wave.

"Is it-" he began, before shaking his head, "Erm, what are you- I mean, you're here? Why?"

She tentatively took a step closer, though still on her dock. She pushed back her dark sunglasses so he could see her forest green eyes. "I heard a rumor that a captain may be looking for a first mate."

At first he wanted the pinch himself. Perhaps she was some kind of strange mirage? Maybe Scarlet was playing a trick on him?

But as he watched her anxiously chew at her lip and play with the hem of her t-shirt he realized that it was really her. She'd come back.

Come back for him?

Shaking his head, he scratched behind his neck. "Well, I must tell you that it is a very important position that requires commitment."

"Well I'm currently unemployed, so…"

"You quit your job?" he replied as quick as a flash. She nodded shyly.

Interlacing her fingers in front of her she tilted her head coyly, "Someone once told me that taking a detour in life isn't such a bad thing. So I thought I'd give it a go."

The steps it took to close the few yards between them felt like a lifetime. He reached up to her, pulling her into a kiss before he could think better of it, smiling inside when she melted into his arms and they stumbled together onto the deck.

"Hi," she panted with a broad smile as they broke apart.

"Hi," he replied, not sure whether to laugh or cry or do something entirely different.

"You came back," he whispered.

"I did," she nodded, her fingers clinging to the thin cotton of his shirt.

And then he had to ask, he had to know-

"Why?"

Her shoulders sank a little. He held his breath.

"You know why…"

Hooking a finger under her chin, he raised it until their eyes met.

"I thought I'd never see you again," he admitted.

She reached up and pressed her palm against his cheek.

"And it only took a three hour flight to Massachusetts for me to realize what a huge mistake I had made."

Warmth spread through him, swelling his heart, making his skin tingle.

"And then I had to wait and hope that I'd find you here when you said you would be."

"I am forever thankful that you pay such diligent attention."

"So, room for one more?" she asked, slipping her hands around his neck.

"Well," he began with a frown, "There is only one bunk, perhaps it's not quite big enough…"

She stood up on her toes and pressed a kiss against his ear, "Well, there is only one way to find out…"

He glanced at her and she winked cheekily and his heart did a little somersault.

"We should investigate this matter immediately then."

"Aye, Captain," she groaned, pulling him into a kiss as they stumbled towards the cabin door.

/

It was the bravest, stupidest craziest thing she had ever done.

The few friends she had told were speechless. Her boss was shocked, begging her to stay.

But as she lay in the boat's cabin, curled up together in the small bunk, his arms wrapped around her - she knew it was the best decision she had ever made.

"Where to first the, milady?" he whispered, tickling her skin as he spoke.

She twisted so they were face to face, her fingers tangling in his thick hair. "Let's see where the wind takes us, aye?"

And as he leaned in for another kiss, she was vaguely aware of a voice outside shouting, "Jones? Where are you?"

Pausing, Killian sighed, "Scarlet. He was supposed to help me pack up the ship."

"Well you have me for that now."

He smiled broadly, pulling her flush against him as he called about, "Bugger off Scarlett, I'm busy."

And if that didn't give him the message, the sighs and moans that filled the cabin a few moments later surely did.

 _A/N It's done - finally! Thank you for all your amazing messages and support. Your feedback means everything to me and really spurs me on to write and want to be better!_

 _A HUGE thank you to my wonderful beta and amazing friend Nickillian/Ztofan. Without you I couldn't do this!_

 _I've enjoyed writing this so much that I have an idea for 2 or 3 short companion pieces if anyone is interested :D xo_


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